


In Death

by Cyan (vehicroids)



Category: South Park
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Minor Character Death, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-08-03 15:53:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16329005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vehicroids/pseuds/Cyan
Summary: Stan was having difficulties dealing with his grandpa's death. Good thing he had two old friends by his side.Written for Stenny Week. Day 3: Death





	In Death

Marvin Marsh was as old as time itself, and he begged for death at every opportunity. Yet when he died, it did not feel as relieving as Stan thought it would. In fact, it didn't feel like much of anything.

Randy was a mess when he told Stan, with Sharon holding Randy’s hand as he sobbed. Stan was convinced he was being dramatic for attention, but he said nothing. He watched this display in silence, numb.

Stan should have felt something, especially when his family was in pieces. Instead, he excused himself to go for a walk. Where he was going, he didn't know -  _ out of the house _ was good enough.

He could have hung out with Kyle, but he wasn't always the most sympathetic. There was no way he was telling Eric about what happened, not unless he wanted to get mocked. He could have gone to Kenny, but he felt bad only going to see him to tell him he felt nothing about his grandpa dying. No, he could cope by himself.

And with a little thing called alcohol, of course.

He filled a bottle of water with vodka and sat at Stark’s Pond by himself, hiding under a tree. Stan didn't feel anything yet, but he knew the alcohol would help, as it always did. It made him happy, it made him  _ fun _ . No one else knew his best friend was the bottle, and it was better this way. Stan didn't want anyone judging him.

He hugged his knees as he took another swig of vodka. The world was spinning around him, and yet, Stan couldn't feel a damn thing. He screwed the bottle up and dropped the bottle into the snow, keeping the vodka cold. He heard someone approach, and he buried his face in his knees, as if that would make him invisible.

“Stan?”

He knew the voice - it was Kenny. Stan didn't respond, but he didn't know why he didn't want to. He didn't want to talk, maybe. He hoped Kenny would take the hint, but he didn't. He crouched down and put his hand on Stan's shoulder. He still said nothing.

“What're you doing out here?” Kenny asked. “Are you ignoring me?”

Yes. Stan wasn't going to answer, no matter how much Kenny tried. Maybe he could pretend to be asleep, and Kenny would grow bored. Kenny let go of Stan and instead picked up the bottle of vodka. Stan could hear him sniff at it.

“Dude, a water bottle full of vodka? That's the sort of shit Kevin pulls,” Kenny said.

Stan hoped this would mean Kenny would be so disappointed that he left. Instead, he heard snow crunch as Kenny sat down with him, putting the bottle back where it belonged.

“So you're not talking, fine. Shake or nod - was it something I did?” Kenny asked, and Stan shook his head. “Good! That's something. Do you wanna talk about it?” He shook his head again. “Want me to go?”

Stan paused, before shaking his head. He didn't really want Kenny to go - he couldn't handle the thought of being alone right now. He wasn't fun, and he certainly could pretend he was okay. Kenny didn't seem to mind, though.

Stan still didn't want to talk. He remained silent for a while, and Kenny didn't move. Stan was thankful he had someone sitting with him, even if they didn't say anything.

“Grandpa,” Stan eventually mumbled. “My grandpa died.”

Kenny sighed. “I'm sorry.”

“Not your fault. He's been begging for death since I was little, but…”

This should have been a relief, this should have been sad. It should have been something. Kenny scooted closer to Stan, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

“I don't feel anything, and I feel like I should feel something. I wanna… I wanna feel something,” Stan said.

Kenny squeezed him gently. “It doesn't always work like that, Stan.”

“He's been dying for so long, I should be…” Stan sighed, bringing himself closer to Kenny.

“You don't have to be anything. Grief is a bitch, and you can feel however you want,” Kenny said. “Or you can feel nothing. It's just how grief works.”

Stan wanted to believe that, but to him, it was all pretty words. There was a right and wrong way to mourn. Of course, alcohol wasn't the right way, either, but his dad had a beer in hand when he told Stan. If he even tried to say anything, Stan could throw that in his face.

“Is the vodka even yours?” Kenny asked, and Stan nodded. “Seems to me like you're feeling something, but you're holding back.”

Stan moved his face out of his knees. Maybe he was holding back, but he didn't know. It didn't feel like he was. He reached for the bottle, and Kenny grabbed his hand.

“I think you've had enough,” he said.

Stan huffed. Fine, no more alcohol until Kenny left. He stayed flumped against him, a useless lump of a boy. Kenny held his face to his chest, gently fussing his hair.

“I'm here if you wanna talk. Not even about this, but about anything,” Kenny said.

“Dunno what to talk about,” Stan mumbled.

“Then we don't have to talk.”

They were quiet again. Stan closed his eyes, leaning heavily on Kenny. He sighed deeply.

“Can you just… hug me?” Stan asked.

Kenny paused, but he nodded. He wrapped his other arm around Stan and held him close. Even though his coat, Kenny was so warm and so comfortable. In his fogged drunken brain, all he could think about was how much he loved Kenny. What that meant, he didn't know, and didn't care to know.

“Kenny?” Stan asked.

“Yeah?”

“Don't… don't die on me, okay?”

Kenny went silent, and Stan didn't know why. Was Kenny dying? Oh God, Stan couldn't handle that right now. He buried his face in Kenny's chest, taking a deep, shuddering breath. Don't cry, stupid. Don't cry on Kenny. He was going to think Stan was a big baby, bigger than he usually was.

Maybe it was the alcohol, but the thought of Kenny dying was too much. Kenny rubbed his back, humming to soothe Stan.

“I'm not gonna die, dude. I'm gonna be okay.”

The way Kenny said it was so utterly unconvincing, and it didn't help. Stan sniffled - oh God, there he went.

“Stan?” Kenny asked softly. “Hey, I swear. I'm not gonna die. You're stuck with me.”

Stan hoped that was true. He never, ever wanted to lose Kenny.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh hey a Stenny Week thing that isn't... romantic :'D ;;; oh well lmao
> 
> Follow me on [Tumblr!](http://vehicroids.tumblr.com)


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